


A Twist of Fate

by ScholaroftheArchive



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3821251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScholaroftheArchive/pseuds/ScholaroftheArchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is it fate or chance? I can never decide." - Flemeth, The Witch of the Wilds</p><p>It was a promise that brought him to Divine Justinia's Conclave in Haven, and a promise that kept him there long after its' destruction. As the unwilling Herald of Andraste, Alexandre Trevelyan feels obligated to assist the newly formed Inquisition seal the Breach, but past mistakes haunt his every decision. To make matters worse, Alexandre is reunited with a former companion from his youth, Cassandra Pentaghast. </p><p>With the fate of Thedas resting in the palm of his hand, Alexandre must forge new alliances, make new friends and just maybe, find happiness along the way. But as proven by the famed exploits of the Hero of Ferelden and Champion of Kirkwall, being the hero is no easy task; for if Thedas has any hope of surviving the threat the Breach poses, Alexandre must become a hero worthy of song and legend himself. </p><p>Slightly AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Awakening

Pale winter light streamed into the dark cell, rousing its lone occupant from his deep slumber. Disoriented from long hours of dreaming in the Fade, he didn’t immediately notice his peculiar surroundings. With a loud groan, he reached up to rub the dull ache in his neck, but found his movement halted abruptly in midair.

For one terrifying moment, panic consumed his entire being; the sight of his shackled hands knocking the air from within him. _Maker’s Breath. What have I gotten myself into this time?_ Taking a gulp of air, he quickly surveyed his surroundings.

He was alone. Of _that_ much he was sure.

And despite the shimmer of light overhead and from beneath the wooden door in front of him, the cell was still uncomfortably small and dank. And extremely old — if his quick observation of it could be any judge. _Prison doors have been made out of iron since the Steel Age. That must mean —_

But before he could finish his thought, the assessed wooden door violently swung open.

Light burst into the room, blinding him for a brief moment. Yet against the rays, he could make out the indisputable silhouette of a woman entering the cell. She was clad in heavy armour, the Seekers of Truth insignia gleaming proudly on her breastplate.

_Andraste’s Sweet Tits._

The woman was scowling at him. Her right hand gripped the hilt of a sword sheathed to her hip as she circled him, like a predator stalking its prey. He felt her his left shoulder before leaning downwards.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she sneered, her accent thick. His heart pang sharply against his chest; regret rising within him. He was able to place the accent immediately as Nevarran.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.” And it was the truth. He had no idea what crime he had committed to be locked away into an ancient cell and to incur such wrath. From a Seeker of Truth, no less.

Her unexpected movement towards him made him instinctively recoil, but the Seeker’s attention was at his left hand.

She grabbed it roughly and banished it towards his face. “Then explain this!”

A burst of green light suddenly emitted from a strange mark on his hand, enveloping the entire room in an eerie glow.

“I don’t know what that is!” He gasped, clenching his teeth against the onslaught of pain.

He heard her sword slide roughly from its scabbard. “You’re lying,” she shouted, her voice ringing against the stone walls.

The deadly glint of steel was against his neck, cold and unforgiving — like the woman before him. And for a moment, he  thought she would kill him where he kneeled, but his fear was unfounded when the Seeker was suddenly jerked away.

“No, Cassandra,” a new voice implored. “We need him, remember?”

Cold, uncomfortable sweat washed over him at the familiar name. _Cassandra? No, it can’t be…_ His breath caught in his throat. He suddenly felt dizzy.

The newcomer had seemed to materialized from the shadows of the cell itself. But underneath the heavy hood they wore, brilliant red hair was visible. However, his attention was not directed at the redhead, but instead entirely on the woman who had so nearly removed his head.

“Cassandra? Is that really you…?” he asked, scanning the darkness for her strong jaw and high cheekbones. It was impossible to clearly see her face in the dimly lit cell, but the shadows only seemed to enhance the angular features he remembered that she possessed.

Both the redheaded stranger and Seeker paused at his inquiry, glancing at each other in mutual surprise.

However, the moment was fleeting. The redhead quickly masked her features and moved to stand before him.

“And who might you be?” she asked, her Orlesian tone calm, despite the heavy tension in the room.

“Alexandre Julien Trevelyan of Ostwick, at your service, my lady. Youngest son of Teryn Aldéric Trevelyan,” he replied with such ease that he surprised himself. It had been many years — far more then even _he_ was willing to admit — since he’d formally introduced himself.

And even with the years training he knew she had endured to control her expressions, Cassandra was unable to prevent the flicker of recognition from appearing on her face at his name.

And he wasn’t the only one in the room who noticed it. The redhead raised one curved eyebrow at the Seeker, who glared silently back in response.

When the redheaded woman finally turned back to him, her features remained impassive, but he saw a trace of mirth in her crystal blue eyes. “Then tell me, Alexandre. What do you remember?”

“I…remember running. _Things_ were chasing me.” He paused. “And there…was a woman.”

“A woman?” she asked, surprise — _Or was it suspicion_ , he wondered — in her voice.

Fragmented memories swarmed in his mind, unclear but tantalizing there. “She reached out to me, but then…agh, I can’t remember.”

The two women shared a dark look, as if silently communicating with one another. Cassandra then suddenly stepped forward, kneeling directly in front of him. Any lingering doubts he may have had of her identity vanished with a single glance into her amber eyes.

“The Conclave…” she begun, but stopped at the look on his face. “Divine Justinia is dead.” She held his gaze, waiting.

“The Divine is dead?” he muttered in disbelief. Then realization struck within him. “And what? You believe I’m responsible!” he spat, tugging angrily on the shackles.

Cassandra stood, looming over him. Her eyes hard like the naked steel in her hand. “You are the only one to survive the explosion that killed Most Holy.”

 _Explosion?_ Anger rose within him. “You know me, Pentaghast.” The use of her royal surname rolling off his tongue before he could stop himself; an old jest — one, if he recalled correctly, she hated. “You know I would never kill a Divine.”

The cell went quiet. The redheaded woman glanced curiously at Cassandra, but the Seeker refused to meet her gaze, instead staring stubbornly down at the stone floor. _She couldn’t possibly have forgotten…_

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the Rift.” Cassandra said evenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

 _Rift?_ He shifted on his knees.

The redheaded woman — _Leliana_ — gazed at Cassandra. He could see the curiosity burning in her blue eyes, and part of him thought she would ignore Cassandra to instead interrogate the both of them. But Leliana simply nodded and silently left the cell.

At the departure of her companion, Cassandra finally sheathed her weapon and bent down to pull him effortlessly to his feet.

“What _did_ happen?” he asked tentatively, shaking away the dizziness he felt at standing.

Cassandra steadied him, her hands lingering on his broad shoulders. “It…will be easier to show you. Come.”

When Cassandra did not meet his questioning gaze, he forlornly tried to remember — to no success — the last alcoholic drink he’d consumed.  _What I’d do for a glass of Aggreggio right now_ , he thought longingly as Cassandra grasped his upper arm and dragged him out of the cell.

“Where are you taking me, Cassandra?” He grumbled, grimacing at the iron grip she had on his arm. “What’s this ‘Rift’?”

Cassandra glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You wish to prove your innocence? Then you will be granted such an opportunity to do so.”

“You still think I’m guilty? After everything we went through with —”

Cassandra yanked him backward into the stone wall, nearly pulling him off his feet with her sheer strength. “Do not presume to speak of the past, Alexandre. What you speak of occurred nearly twenty years ago.”

A flicker of hope danced within him at her use of his name. “But you _do_ remember it?”

Cassandra growled; a mixture of annoyance and disgust that informed him that she certainly did.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided smile.

As they emerged into the deserted main hall, it didn’t take him long to confirm his suspicion that the building they were in was indeed a Chantry. But from the cracks in the stone archways and simple designs on the wooden doors, this particular Chantry must have been built sometime during the Exalted Age; possibly even before King Calenhad united Ferelden under a single banner.

And almost immediately, he wanted to ask Cassandra if there was a library — or perhaps even a local historian — that could inform him of its exact construction, but the angry clench of her jaw and uncomfortable hold on his arm kept his mouth firmly shut. Maybe this wasn’t the time for scholarly debate.

Cassandra released her hold on him as they approached a set of wooden doors. And without a word, she shove the Chantry doors open and stepped out into the snow. Alexandre sighed, shaking his head slightly before trailing after her.

The air outside was freezing. A bone-chilling cold that he felt through the light leather armour he wore. But it wasn’t the cold that disturbed him, it was the scent of burning buildings and taste of ash in his mouth. Glancing at Cassandra, he followed her gaze upwards. And stared.

The sky was spattered in various shades of green and blue, like the aftermath of one of his nieces or nephews with a paintbrush. So mesmerizing was the sight that he would have thought it was overwhelmingly exquisite — if only the source of green did not come from the unearthly tear that engulfed the entire sky.

“We call it the Breach.” Cassandra told him solemnly, staring out into the distance. “A massive rift into the world of demons that expands with each passing hour.” She glanced back at him, her dark eyebrows furrowed together. “It is not the only such rift, simply the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Alexandre shook his head. “Cassandra, for an explosion to actually tear open the Veil…” his voice trailed off.

“I know.” Cassandra agreed, her unwavering gaze on him heavy. “But this one did.”

Before he could reply, a murmur of voices rose over the roar of the wind. A crowd had formed in front of the Chantry. Men, women and children — _refugees_ , he realized — gathered around and openly glared at him. Cassandra must have noticed the heated faces in the crowd, for she simply drew her sword and pushed him into the angry mob.

No one approached them, even the foot soldiers gathered among the fearful stayed a safe distance away — perhaps in fear of Cassandra’s blade — but some boldly directed jeers at him as Cassandra escorted him through the refugee camp.

“They have already decided your guilt. They need it for they all mourn Most Holy and would see someone answer for her death.” Cassandra told him, one hand gripping his upper arm and the other holding her weapon; threatening any who dared to come within her reach.

He grunted, ducking his head to avoid a rock thrown at him. “Of course, they do. As long as someone dies who cares about the bloody truth.”

Cassandra’s grip on him tightened. “I can promise there will be a trial. Your willingness to assist us in closing the Breach may help your claim for innocence.”

 _She still doesn’t believe me!_ He looked at her pointedly. “And you believe my mark can do that?” He gestured wildly in the direction of the Breach.

Cassandra frowned at him, her brow furrowing together. “We believe it is possible. But first we must test your mark on something smaller.”

A gated bridge loomed in the distance, soldiers posted along its ramparts. _Standing guard for demons_ , he thought wearily.

Despite his hatred for demons, if regaining Cassandra’s hard-earned trust meant fighting his way through a horde of demons or Maker-knows what else to prove his innocence, he would do it without hesitation. “Very well then. Take me to this Rift, Pentaghast.”

Cassandra stopped abruptly and stared at him; her expression difficult even for him to read. Pursing her lips, she reached into the small utility pouch attached to her belt and retrieved a small rusty key. And with a quick turn of her hand, the heavy iron shackles around his wrists fell into the snow between them.

Unable to suppress his surprised at the action, he gaped openly at her.

But Cassandra did not look at him. Carefully avoiding his gaze, she nodded curtly to herself before commanding the guards stationed on the bridge to allow them to pass.

Absently rubbing his wrists, Alexandre looked down at the shackles; Cassandra’s message to him clear as it had been twenty years ago: _Don’t make me regret this, Trevelyan._

And with the intention of proving her faith in him was not misplaced, he followed the Seeker onto the bridge.

_And so it begins again._


	2. The Wrath of Heaven

Those who oppose Thee

Shall know the wrath of heaven.

Field and forest shall burn,

The seas shall rise and devour them,

The wind shall tear nations

From the face of the earth,

Lightning shall rain down from the sky,

They shall cry out to their false gods,

And find silence.

— Canticle of Andraste 7:19

_________________________

Like the crowd of refugees outside the Chantry, Alexandre’s reception on the bridge was much the same. From hatred, to suspicion, the weight of every soldier’s accusation followed him as he stepped onto the mountain trail.

But in spite of the situation, Alexandre couldn’t tear his eyes from the Seeker walking stoically beside him.

A part of him still couldn’t believe it was truly her, but in the pale winter light, there was no mistaking that the woman was indeed, Cassandra Pentaghast.

In the eighteen years he and Cassandra had been apart, he’d never imagined it would be another catastrophe to entwine their fates again. But whether by divine intervention or simply, a cruel twist of fate, something seemed hell bent on reuniting them. Especially, given the vow he had made years ago to never see her again.

_So much for that promise_ , he thought unhappily, catching himself staring at the long scar on her cheek.

Luckily, Cassandra didn’t notice his staring. The Seeker’s eyes remained transfixed on the path around them, scanning the area like she expected them to be attacked at any moment.

He rubbed his wrists. Cassandra’s fears had always been well-placed, and if she was worried then no doubt it was for good reason.

As they rounded the corner of the path, the eerie tear — _the Breach_ , Alexandre reminded himself — pulsated brightly, illuminating the entire sky in green. Whatever connection Cassandra believed his mark shared with the Breach became clear to him when sudden agony rippled through his left hand.

Alexandre fell to his knees, his hand spasming as a burning pain shot up his arm and into his chest.

Cassandra paused. And for a brief moment, he could have sworn he saw a flicker of worry sweep over her features before vanishing completely. “The mark…it is killing you,” she informed him quietly. “If we are unable to close the Breach it will —”

“— Consume all of Thedas?” Alexandre interrupted sharply, clenching his teeth.

Cassandra scowled at him. “Yes,” she answered tensely, helping him slowly to his feet. “Each time your mark spreads, the Breach expands.”  

“I already promised to help.” Alexandre countered as he flexed his hand. “What more do you want from me, Pentaghast?”

Cassandra glared at him, the beginning of a retort on her lips when cries of help drew their attention northward. She was the first to react, her gaze filling with determination as she gestured for him to follow her. “Let’s go!”

They walked fast. Their strides covering the snowy terrain quickly until they came upon another bridge. However, unlike the first one, this bridge had seen signs of fighting.

Smoke rose from piles of burning wreckage and only a small cohort of battle-worn soldiers stood posted along its ramparts. However, their attention was not directed towards any possible threats on either end of the structure, but instead on the frozen lake below them.  

Cassandra’s hand hovered above the hilt of her sword, a gesture that Alexandre remembered well. He glanced at her shield; the all-seeing eye of the Seekers unflinching under his gaze. The shield’s surface bore silvery scars, telling unsung stories of close encounters and ferocious battles. They glimmered almost-beautifully in the winter sun, calling out to him of a time when its surface was smooth. He still remembered the day she had received it: on the gilded dais, surrounded by an adoring crowd, the sun beaming down on her and —

“Seeker Pentaghast!”

One of the soldiers limped towards them, his tattered coat stained with dried blood. With a stiff bow to Cassandra, he pointed up to the mountains. “You must get to the mountain ruins! The men from Kirkwa—!” But whatever the soldier meant to say was lost to the rumbling of the earth beneath them.

Time seemed to slow down. With perfect clarity, Alexandre saw the interlock of stone underneath the soldier’s feet split apart, but before he could voice for them all to run, the bridge collapsed.

The screams of men and crashing rocks filled the air as they tumbled into the rocky gorge. And for a frightful moment, Alexandre’s world was only blurry images as the white dust settled.

When the world stopped spinning, Alexandre lifted himself from the snowy ground. Despite the bloody carnage around him, he himself remained unharmed. Dusting the snow off his shoulders, he quickly scanned the rubble for Cassandra’s short black hair.

He spotted her some feet away, kneeling above the broken body of a soldier. One of her gloved hands rested on the fallen man’s chest.

“Dead?” Alexandre asked quietly, standing behind her hunched form as he inspected the destroyed bridge. What had caused the bridge to collapse like that?

Cassandra sighed, her pained gaze silently confirming his question.

Without thinking, he gently grasped her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

An awkward silence hung between them; the question leaving half a dozen things unsaid. Cassandra seemed to become aware of it too — whatever _it_ was — at the same time he did. She nodded stiffly, shrugging off his hand as she stood.

Alexandre mentally shook himself. Had he lost all sense? This was hardly the time or place to do this.

Before he could apologize, a hazy green mist rose from the lake’s frozen surface, snaking around their boots. He glanced sideways at Cassandra. The pained look in her eyes had vanished, instead replaced by a steely determination that Alexandre understood; battle was something they both knew far too well.

“Demons!” She announced, raising her sword and shield. “Stay behind me!”

As Alexandre was still without a weapon of his own and knew Cassandra was unlikely to hand over hers, he backed away. There would be no point in arguing with her. The mist receded, revealing three shades with their deadly sharp claws glittering in the pale sun.

Despite being outnumbered, Cassandra remained unfazed. She charged forward, drawing the attention of two of the creatures.

But Alexandre didn’t get to admire Cassandra’s skill, for the third shade turned its beady black eyes on him.

_Maker’s Balls._

Panic rose within him as he watched the shade slither forward, claws poised to tear his face in two. Desperate, he scoured the flaming wreckage for anything, anything at all that could be used as a weapon. His eyes burned from the black smoke and his nose wrinkled at the unmistakable stench of burning flesh, but neither did anything to deter him from kicking aside a smoking crate.

Then he saw it.

Leaning against a small wooden crate, precariously close to the flickering flames, was a single recurve bow and quiver.

He reacted purely on instinct, lunging towards them before they caught fire. Without even bothering to sling the nearly empty quiver onto his shoulder, Alexandre whirled around, notched an arrow and released it — all in one fluid motion.

It saved his life. The shade fell dead to the ground, the arrow embedded deeply in its head. Alexandre watched the body evaporate to a black mist, leaving only black ichor and the arrow behind.

Knowing that his supply of arrows were limited, Alexandre retrieved it from the ground and turned to find Cassandra.

Of the two demons she had engaged, only one of them remained. Repeatedly smashing its claws into Cassandra’s shield, it refused to give her an opportunity to dispatch it.

Moving to flank the demon, Alexandre readied an arrow. Years of training returned to him; he’d done this countless times before. When the demon raised its arm to strike at Cassandra again, Alexandre let the bloodied arrow fly. Black ichor spattered the ground, seeping into the snow as the demon roared, clutching the wound under its arm.

With the shade’s attention on Alexandre, Cassandra finally found the opening she needed.

Coolly, she thrust her sword upwards, piercing through the back of the shade. Even before she could withdraw her sword from its body, it burst into mist.  

“Just like old times, huh?” Alexandre’s mouth twitched into a smile, but faded away when Cassandra stalked towards him, her blade coated with demon blood. “Cassandra, what is—?”

“Drop your weapon,” she growled, her blade hovering at his throat for the second time that day. “ _Now_.”

“You’re barking mad! I just helped you!” Alexandre snapped, his grip on the bow tightening. When Cassandra made no move to lower her sword, he groaned internally. _Damn stubborn woman_. “Cassandra, there are bound to be more demons. If you think I will stand idly aside while you fight them off by yourself, you’re very mistaken.”

Resignation crossed Cassandra’s face at his words, and with a heavy sigh, she slowly sheathed her weapon. “You are right. The longer we delay, the more demons will appear. I cannot guarantee your safety, nor can I expect you to remain defenceless” She looked away, appearing bashful for a moment. “And your skill could be useful,” she admitted reluctantly, moving towards a snowy outcrop.

Alexandre nearly grinned at the offhand compliment, but kept quiet as he followed her. He knew better than to start sassing her.   

They trudged through the snowy banks in silence. Alexandre shivered, his light leather armour doing nothing to protect him from the blowing snow and harsh winter winds. Without any conversation, his mind kept going back to what Cassandra had said in the cell: that he was the only one to survive the explosion that had killed thousands, including Divine Justinia. It made no sense to him, unless he had, albeit unwittingly, played a role in the explosion. The thought unsettled him.

Clearing his throat, Alexandre broke the silence. “You said I was the only one who survived the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. How is that possible?”

Cassandra glanced at him, considering his question. For some reason, she seemed hesitant to reveal anything to him. _Does she still think I caused this?_ He was about to ask her that very question when finally, she spoke.

“No one knows for certain, but witnesses claim to see you emerge from…the Breach itself.” She stopped, staring intently at him. He felt exposed under her unwavering gaze. “They say there was a woman behind you.”

Alexandre frowned. He couldn’t remember anything of the incident, so proving whether or not those claims were true was impossible, but to have some part of the story match up (even something as vague as seeing a _woman_ ) unnerved him. At least it made sense for Cassandra and Leliana to suspect him, if people had claimed to see him fall from the Breach.

Had _Leliana_ believed him innocent? Judging from Cassandra’s icy indifference to him, Alexandre wasn’t entirely sure a complete stranger would be more receptive to his claim of innocence.

The shades on the frozen lake were not the only enemies he and Cassandra faced on their way to the mountain ruins. More and more demons seemed to appear each time they encountered them, slowing their progress. Was their proximity to the Breach that made them appear in such numbers? When he suggested it to Cassandra, she had merely shrugged and continued walking. The higher they got into the mountains, the heavier the snow fell, making the makeshift pathway treacherous on foot.

Despite the years, Alexandre and Cassandra fought together in a lethal but perfect harmony, removing the demons that fell from the Breach with frightening ease. He absently wondered if she noticed it too. Though he would never admit it aloud, fighting beside her was exhilarating; a deadly dance that he had never been able to perform with anyone else.

Cassandra sighed, sheathing her sword as the last demon burst into green. As she moved to brush past him, Alexandre threw his arm out, stopping her. “Do you hear that?”

Cassandra’s head tilted a fraction, listening. After a moment, she shook her head. “What is it?”

“I hear fighting,” he told her calmly. Alexandre had fought in his share of battles and there was no mistaking the distinct noise, even over the roar of the wind.

Cassandra’s eyes widened. “We must help them!” And without warning, she dashed up the mountain path.  

Alexandre chased after her, nearly slipping on the icy surface. “Cassandra! Andraste’s Tits, you haven’t changed! Wait a damn minute!” He caught her arm, hauling her straight into his chest.“Who’s fighting?”

Cassandra glared at him, jerking away as if his touch burned her. “You won’t know unless we help them,” she snapped, drawing her sword and charging towards the ruins without him.

Cursing her stubbornness under his breath, Alexandre followed her. As they entered the ruins, the sounds of fighting only got louder. He had been right; there was an ongoing skirmish in the ruins. Already many of the soldiers lay dead, the crest of Kirkwall branded in their armour. Only an elf and a dwarf remained fighting the demons that emerged from a shimmering green tear hanging suspended above them.

Alexandre hissed. On his palm, the mark flared brightly. _Well, that must be the Rift._  

“Glad you could join us, Seeker!” The dwarf yelled as he and Cassandra dropped down into the fray.  

In the dwarf’s hands was quite possibly the largest crossbow Alexandre had ever seen. _A retractable crossbow?_ Alexandre marvelled at the brass embellishments; his appreciation for fine craftsmanship distracting him. His attention was only drawn away from the dwarf’s choice of weapon when he caught sight of the elf’s. The elf swung a staff, freezing two demons before they could manifest into their corporeal form.

_A mage_ , Alexandre realized immediately, feeling the surge of mana radiate from the elf.

If Cassandra was troubled by their elven companion, she didn’t show it. She wasted no time joining the conflict, blocking a demon from rushing at the dwarf’s unprotected back.

With his limited supply of arrows, there was only so much Alexandre could do to help. He targeted the demons weak spots, leaving Cassandra and the dwarf to finish them off.

The elf was suddenly beside him. “Quickly! Do it now!”

_Do what now?_ Before Alexandre could ask, the elf grasped his left wrist and directed it towards the Rift. The mark on his hand burst into life; a green tendril shot upwards and connected with the Rift. Alexandre winced at the pain.   

With a small hum of energy, the Rift exploded into tiny pieces. But rather than raining down upon them, it dissolved upwards into the sky, leaving no trace of it or the demons behind.

Wide-eyed, Alexandre looked at the elf. “How did you do that?” He asked inquisitively, flexing his hand as the green glow subsided.

The elf leaned on his staff, an odd smile on his face. “I did nothing, for the credit is all yours.”

“You mean this.” Alexandre held up his palm, showing the mark to the elf.

Something unintelligible flickered across the elf’s face. “Whatever magic opened the Breach, also placed that mark on your hand. I theorized that it might be used to close the Rifts. And it appears I was correct.”

Cassandra stepped forward, her cheeks flushed from battle. “Meaning it could close the Breach itself,” she realized, looking at Alexandre as if seeing him for the first time.

“Possibly,” the elf returned, glancing at Cassandra. He gazed at Alexandre appraisingly; long fingers tapping on his wooden staff. “It appears you hold the key to our salvation.”

Alexandre stared at the elf. Instinctively, he wanted to flee, knowing no good would come from such bold a declaration, but his promise to Cassandra kept him where he stood. _You promised to help. You ran away from her once before; you owe it to her to stay._

Someone snorted behind them, drawing Alexandre from his thoughts. “That’s good to know! And here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”  

Remembering the dwarf with the crossbow, Alexandre looked over his shoulder. “And you are?” He asked, uncertain if he really wanted to know.  

The dwarf grinned, twirling a bolt from his crossbow around his fingers. “Varric Tethras. Rogue. Storyteller. And occasionally, an unwelcome tagalong.” At the last statement, the dwarf winked cheekily at Cassandra.

Alexandre raised an eyebrow at that; sensing a tale from this self-proclaimed storyteller, especially given Cassandra’s reaction. Next to him, the elf chuckled quietly, hiding a smile behind his hand.

But Cassandra paid the elf no attention, instead staring suspiciously down at the dwarf. “Your help _was_ appreciated, Varric. But it is no longer necessary.” Cassandra said evenly, her jaw clenched.

Varric scoffed loudly. “Have you actually _been_ down in the valley, Seeker?” He gestured downwards to what Alexandre could only assume was in the direction of a demon-infested valley. “Your men aren’t in control of the situation anymore. You need us.”

Cassandra’s nose flared, the telltale sign of her anger reaching a boiling point. Not understanding her unwarranted irritation, Alexandre grasped her shoulder in an attempt to calm the raging Seeker. But if anything, his touch simply seemed to agitate her further. Directing her anger away from Varric, she glowered at him instead; her eyes filled with conflicting emotions.

If either Varric or the elf noticed the unspoken tension between them, they said nothing, simply watching the scene unfold with curious eyes.

Alexandre took a deep breath; his own frustration nearly getting the best of him.“We need all the help we can get, Cassandra.” Turning to the elf and Varric, he inclined his head. “Any help either of you can provide is greatly appreciated.”

Varric smirked, raising a hand towards him. “See, Seeker! Listen to your prisoner! He has nice manners.” Alexandre shot the dwarf a bewildered glance. Did the dwarf have a death wish?

Cassandra simply grunted, throwing her hands into the air as she stalked away.

The elf cleared his throat. “If there are to be introductions: I am Solas.” Smiling, the elf acknowledged Alexandre with a nod. “I’m pleased that you still live.”

“Meaning he’s the one who stopped that _thing_ on your hand from killing you while you dozed off,” Varric clarified quickly, seeing the confusion in Alexandre’s eyes.

Slightly embarrassed at the wave of gratitude that surged within him, Alexandre ran a shaky hand through his hair. “If that’s the case then I should be thanking you, Solas.”

Solas chuckled. “Not yet, I fear. The day is far from over.”

“You can say that again, Chuckles,” Varric replied smoothly, wiping some unseen dirt from his brown leather coat.  

Behind them, Cassandra huffed impatiently. “If you gentlemen are quite finish, we best be on our way.” She was waiting near the collapsed wall of the fortress, arms folded neatly across her chest. “Leliana will be expecting us at the forward camp.”

Varric laughed, patting the crossbow strapped onto his back. “Well, looks like Bianca isn’t the only one excited.” With a wink at Alexandre, the dwarf trailed after Solas, who was trying to catch up with the retreating Seeker.  

Convinced that the dwarf was mad, Alexandre jumped over the fallen debris and chased his companions down the meandering trail.

For the first time that day, the Maker seemed to smile on them. Contrary to Varric’s claim, their journey through the valley to the forward camp was blissfully demon-free, much to Alexandre’s relief; he’d used the last of his arrows fighting the demons in the mountain ruins.

As they entered the forward camp, Alexandre instantly recognized Leliana’s melodic voice the moment she was within earshot. Though from her tone, she seemed in the midst of a heated argument.

A man paced in front of her, dressed in the iconic red robes of the Chantry. His hands moved frantically as he spoke, but he stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of their approach. “Ah, here they come.”

Leliana rushed towards Cassandra. “You made it,” she sighed in relief. Glancing at the stuffy man behind her, she indicated Alexandre with a wave of her hand. “Chancellor Roderick, this is—”

“I know who he is,” Chancellor Roderick snapped dismissively.

His eyes examined Alexandre from head to toe; the blood-stained leather armour, windswept hair, and scarred face no doubt incriminating him for hundreds of imaginary crimes.

“You have much to answer for, young man.” Turning to Cassandra, he addressed her directly. “As the Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to arrest this criminal to await justice in Val Royeaux.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows disappeared into the fringe of her hair, a remarkable feat given its’ short length. “You? Order me?” Cassandra snarled, taking a step forward. “You are a glorified cleric, a bureaucrat.”  

“And you are a thug. But one who supposedly still serves the Chantry—”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor,” Leliana interrupted quickly, her eyebrows drawing together. “As you well know.”

“Divine Justinia is dead,” the Chancellor declared, his voice laced with something akin to sorrow, but it was quickly replaced by anger. Accusingly, he pointed a finger at Alexandre. “As far as either of you know, _he_ was the one who killed her!”

“If I may…isn’t closing the Breach the more pressing concern at the moment?” Alexandre asked, gesturing to the problem in the sky. Already, the Breach appeared to have grown in size since he’d first seen it.  

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Varric mumbled suspiciously, but only loud enough for Alexandre and Solas to hear him.

For a man devoted to serving the Chantry, the Chancellor’s eyes were filled with incredible fury. He rounded on Alexandre.“You have no right to speak!”

“And you have no right to judge this man guilty,” Cassandra shot back, placing herself directly in front of Alexandre. The action surprised him; he’d forgotten how fiercely protected she could be.

The man’s face twisted in anger, undoubtedly realizing he would not win against the unyielding Seeker. Sneering spitefully at Cassandra, he whirled to face Leliana. “If you claim to truly serve the Chantry, then call a retreat. Many lives have already been lost today. Need more perish?”

Leliana pursed her red lips together, contemplating the Chancellor’s words. Then her gaze slide to Cassandra. When the Seeker offered no comment, Leliana sighed heavily, turning to the soldier on her right. “Lieutenant, would you—”

“Wait.”

All eyes turned to Alexandre.

Chancellor Roderick crossed his arms, smirking with satisfaction. “Yes, prisoner? You wish to confess your crimes, no doubt.”

Completely ignoring the man, Alexandre turned to Cassandra and gestured up the mountain. “The Breach is not much further ahead, is it?” When she shook her head in reply, his eyes sought Leliana’s, imploring her to trust him. “Get every abled-bodied soldier to the Temple, _anyone_ who still willing to fight. Have them head towards the Breach. Tell them…tell them it’s for Divine Justinia. ”

Leliana stared at him for a long moment, seeming to consider the sentiment. Then turning back to the soldier, she nodded. “Do as he says, Lieutenant.” With a sharp salute to Cassandra, Leliana _and_ Alexandre, the soldier took off.

Chancellor Roderick exploded. “What! You’re actually—?”

“That will be all, Chancellor.” Leliana interrupted coldly, her blue eyes alight with something dangerous. Alexandre took a cautious step back. Leliana, like Cassandra, was clearly not a woman to be trifled with.

With his influence exhausted, the Chancellor’s his eyes darted angrily to Alexandre. “And should this fail? What then, prisoner?” He asked, his voice filled with contempt.

Alexandre shrugged, bending down to rummage through a supply chest. “What do you have to lose besides one lowly prisoner, Grand Chancellor?” With a new quiver filled with arrows slung over one shoulder, Alexandre strapped a knife on either side of his hip.

Chancellor Roderick watched him with calculating eyes. “Highly convenient that should you perish, you escape the Chantry’s justice.”

“‘Those who oppose Thee shall know the wrath of heaven,’” Alexandre recited calmly, locking eyes with the man. “I won’t live to be trialled like a common thief. If I die, I will face the Maker’s judgement.”

He then turned and marched out of the camp without a backwards glance.

When he heard the sound of footsteps chasing after him, he stiffened. Expecting to see the Chancellor with an angry crowd of refugees behind him, he was startled to find Cassandra, Solas and Varric following.  

Varric laughed at the look on Alexandre’s face. “Thought you’d get rid of us that easy, Brains?”

Solas chuckled, nodding in agreement. “We follow your lead. Assuming our help is still welcomed, of course,” he asked with a smile.  

Alexandre returned the smile sheepishly. For the first time in months, he was struck speechless. None of them had any reason to come after him, but their unbidden faith only steeled his resolve.

Cassandra remained quiet as she walked beside him. Staring intently at him, she seemed to be searching his face. For what? He wasn’t sure. “Leliana will meet us at the Temple,” she informed him finally, absently tracing the pommel of her sword.

He nodded once, acknowledging her. Once this was over he would speak to her alone, explain himself — he did owe her an explanation after all; why he hadn’t written once to her in all these years. But until then, there would be no point confronting the tension between them.

Alexandre was in the midst of figuring how he would explain his conscious evasion of Cassandra (he couldn’t possibly tell her the truth) when a battlefield came into view, and with it, the sounds of intense battle. The mark on Alexandre’s hand flashed green.

“There appears to be another Rift,” Solas mused.  

Alexandre nodded stiffly, flexing his glowing hand.

In front of them, Cassandra drew her sword and charged, drawing the bulk of the demons’ attention as Alexandre, Solas and Varric found higher ground.

Atop the rocks, Alexandre surveyed the battlefield. Most of the soldiers lay dead or heavily wounded. With only a handful remaining, a single man stood out among them. The man wore a gleaming helm that, designed in steel, resembled the visage of a roaring lion. Vibrant red feathers imitated a mane.

Alexandre released an arrow, killing a demon threatening an unarmed soldier. Grabbing one of the knives strapped to his hip, Alexandre dropped down and tossed it to the man. A wave of gratitude sweep over the man’s features; he rushed back into the fight.

Over the noise, Alexandre could hear the distinctive thwack of Bianca volleying bolts at various shades; each one bursting into black. To Varric’s left, Cassandra easily dispatched a pair of wraiths and moved to help the man with the lion helm.

“Get to the Rift!” Solas yelled, casting a barrier over a wounded man. He and Varric were still perched atop the outcrop of rock; a vantage point overlooking the entire battlefield.

Alexandre hesitated, glancing between the Rift and where Cassandra stood toe-to-toe with a greater shade, unaware of the odd-looking demon behind her. The terrifying demon was burrowing underneath the ground, snatching unsuspecting soldiers at random and dragging them down into the earth. Many soldiers fled in utter terror when it appeared from the ground, unleashing a horrible screech. But as quickly as it appeared, it shot straight back into the ground.

Before Alexandre could react, the ground beneath him rippled apart as demon leaped back to the surface. A gasp lodged in his throat, he fell backwards, his ankle twisting awkwardly as the demon reached out to grab him. Suddenly, a longsword came hurling down, cleaving one of the demon’s arms clean off.

The man with the lion helm loomed above him, covered with black ichor. “Go!” he yelled at Alexandre, knocking the demon backwards with a kick.

Ignoring his throbbing ankle, Alexandre raced through the battlefield, dodging the strange green projectiles wraiths hurled his way. When he neared the Rift, the searing pain in his hand intensified. Gritting his teeth against the onslaught of pain, Alexandre raised his hand. Like before, a tendril of green light surged from the mark, connecting with the Rift. And with a burst, it exploded, taking all the demons with it.

“Sealed, just as before.” Solas nodded approvingly, leaning on his staff. “You are becoming most proficient at this.”

“Yeah, let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric panted loudly. His eyes surveyed the bloody battlefield. “Is it just me or are there more demons up here than in the valley?”

The man with the lion helm ran towards them. “Lady Cassandra!” He called, removing it as he approached the Seeker. Slick with sweat, the man pushed his curly blonde hair away from his forehead. “You managed to seal the Rift? Well done.”

Cassandra sighed. “Do not congratulate me, Commander. It was,” she paused, a deep frown on her face.

More than capable of introducing himself, Alexandre simply offered his glowing hand to the blonde man. “Alexandre, at your service.”  

The Commander’s eyes darted to the mark, a frown marring his face. “Cullen Rutherford, at yours,” he replied finally, firmly grasping Alexandre’s outstretched hand. “I hope what they say about you is true.”

Alexandre paused, considering it seriously. “So do I. It would be a shame for the world to end without having first enjoyed a Sun Blonde Vintage.”

Coughing came from behind them; Varric’s unsuccessful attempt to conceal a laugh. Cullen scratched the back of his neck, sneaking a nervous glimpse at Cassandra.

Clearing his throat, Cullen gestured to the smoking ruins behind them. “The way ahead to the Temple should be clear,” he explained, glancing between Alexandre and Cassandra. “Leliana and her scouts took the mountain path.”

Still scowling darkly at Alexandre, Cassandra nodded curtly. “Thank you, Commander.”

With a bow, Cullen left to help carry the wounded men away from the battlefield.

Throwing an irritated look at Alexandre, Cassandra stormed away towards the Temple. Varric raised an eyebrow at the Seeker’s departure. Suddenly, his eyes darted between Alexandre to the retreating Seeker’s back, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Pointedly ignoring Varric’s observant eyes, Alexandre trailed quickly after her.  

Only now, looking at the destruction caused by the explosion, did he truly realize just what had been lost. _Both the Hero of Ferelden and Andraste herself stood here once. And now, the most holy site in all of Thedas has been reduced to ash and rubble._

Solas was observing the smoking ruins with interest. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” he proclaimed. There was a trace of sadness in his voice.

“Whatever’s left of it,” Varric muttered darkly, flinching at the frozen statues scattered around the barren wasteland. Poor souls who would remain forever entombed with the screams of agony etched on their faces.

Bile rose to Alexandre’s throat.

“There,” Cassandra said suddenly, pointing to a specific spot in the distance. She glanced at Alexandre. “That is where our men found you.”

Hoping that something would trigger his memory, Alexandre’s eyes darted desperately around the area. But despite his hopes, absolutely nothing returned to him; he had no recollection of this place.

In uncomfortable silence, they walked closer towards the smoking remains of the Temple. Cassandra slowed their progress considerably, stopping to inspect each and every statue, as if searching the petrified faces for someone. The Divine, maybe? Alexandre couldn’t say; nor would he ask her, for profound grief kept flickering across her face, so briefly Alexandre was uncertain he’d actually seen it, until it reappeared once more.   

Upon entering the ruins, they came across what Alexandre assumed was once an indoor balcony, overlooking the main chamber of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Something green flashed down in the middle of the ruins, catching their attention. And with a mixture of suspicion and trepidation, Alexandre leaned over the balcony to get a closer look.

It was a Rift.

Suspended high in the air, the Rift had to be at least a few hundred feet above the ground. But there, swirling even further above the Rift, was the ominous Breach.

Varric gave a low whistle, his head craning upwards. “The Breach sure is a long way up.”

A familiar voice drew them away from the edge of the balcony. “There you are!”

Leliana raced towards them, a yew longbow slung across her lithe body. A contingent of foot soldiers and archers marched in behind her, awaiting direction.

At the arrival of Leliana, relief appeared on Cassandra’s face, surprising Alexandre. “Leliana! Thank the Maker,” Cassandra breathed. The relief was quickly replaced by firm resolve. “Have your men take up positions around the Temple,” she commanded swiftly, gesturing to various spots.  

Leliana nodded solemnly, glancing at Alexandre before relaying Cassandra’s orders to her men.

Cassandra’s eyes landed squarely on Alexandre. “This is your chance to end this,” she told him.

Alexandre stared at her, meeting her stern gaze. “I will, but I doubt I can reach that high to even close it.” Unless he suddenly sprouted wings, it would be difficult to reach the Rift.

Solas stood next to him, his eyes fixated on the Rift. “This Rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps you seal the Breach.”

“Then let’s get down there,” Cassandra said firmly. With a backwards glance at Alexandre, she lead them down the uneven path.

Suddenly, a disembodied voice resounded powerfully throughout the ruined temple.

**Now is the hour of my victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.**

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, her eyes scanning the rubble of the Temple.

Solas’ eyebrows furrowed together. “At a guess? The person who created the Breach.”

Scattered along the Temple ruins were clusters of rocks. Glowing a vibrant red, they were unlike anything Alexandre had ever seen before. Curious, he bent down to retrieve a broken chunk of it.

“Don’t touch it!” Varric yelled vehemently. He rushed forward, swatting Alexandre’s hand inches away from the glowing rocks.

Alexandre jerked away, surprised at the dwarf’s reaction. “Why not?”

“Its bloody evil, that’s why!” Varric answered loudly, looking sharply to Cassandra. “You realize this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker?”

Cassandra frowned. “I see it, Varric,” she replied gruffly, her hand hovering above the hilt of her sword as she walked further into the temple.

However, Varric didn’t drop the subject. He scurried after Cassandra. “But what’s it doing up here?”

Solas poked the red crystals with the end of his staff. They hissed with energy. “It is possible that the Breach drew the lyrium located under the Temple to the surface, corrupting it,” he offered.

Varric eyed the red crystalline rocks, his hand twitching towards Bianca. “Gah! Whatever you do, don’t touch it!” Varric grumbled, looking pointedly at Alexandre then Solas.

As they approached the floating Rift, a woman’s voice echoed around the temple.

**Someone! Help me!**

Cassandra jumped at the cry of help, recognition forming on her face. “That’s Divine Justinia’s voice!”

Before anyone could answer her, a second voice — distinctly male and familiar — responded to the cry.

******What’s going on here?**

At the echo of his own voice, Alexandre’s frowned only deepened when Justinia answered him.    

**Run! While you still can! Warn them!**

Cassandra gasped, arching a dark eyebrow. “You _were_ there! Most Holy called out to you! But why?” She questioned, a hand reaching for her sword.

Before she had her sword to his throat _again_ , Alexandre whirled to face her. “I already told you, Cassandra! How many more times must I say it: I don’t remember!” He wanted to shake her.

Solas stepped between them, placing a hand on Alexandre’s chest. “It is merely a remnant of what transpired here, Cassandra. A memory,” he explained gently. His eyes flickered to Alexandre. “If your mark has the power to close these Rifts, it may have the power to open them.”

Alexandre stared blankly at him, uncertain he heard correctly. “Wait…you want me to _open_ it? To what end?”

Solas seemed to approve of his curiosity. “This Rift is closed, yes, but not sealed. It must be done so properly for the Breach to be sealed.” Solas gestured upwards to the swirling mass overhead. Alexandre looked up; the Breach had grown larger.

“Won’t opening it attract attention from…the other side?” He asked with apprehension, realizing this could quickly turn into a bloody affair.  

Solas nodded, confirming Alexandre’s fear. “It will, indeed.”

Drawing her sword roughly from its scabbard, Cassandra turned to the soldiers positioned around the Temple. “That means demons! Stand ready!”

Leliana stood beside Cassandra, an arrow notched loosely on her bow as the troops around the temple rushed about to get into formation. When Cassandra deemed they were ready, she nodded in his direction.

_It’s now or never._

Steeling his nerves, Alexandre reached out towards the Rift. As expected, the mark flared brightly, connecting with the Rift as a hum of racing energy echoed around the smoking temple. Then, with a spark of green light, the Rift burst apart.

And from it, emerged a roaring Pride Demon.

_Andraste’s Flaming Hair._

Cassandra reacted immediately; the only one in the temple unfazed by their foe. She raised her sword high, inspiring the terrified soldiers. “Loose!” She commanded, rushing forward to attack the Pride Demon.

A volley of arrows sailed through the sky, piercing into the demon’s chest. But to the monstrous creature, it showed no indication of feeling the attack. At that same moment, more demons emerged from the Rift.

Utter chaos descended upon those in the temple.

Between the fearsome Pride Demon, and the waves of shades and wraiths appearing rapidly from the Rift, Alexandre was barely able to draw breathe. He let arrow after arrow fly with deadly accuracy, killing four wraiths in quick succession as Varric killed a shade advancing behind him.

Near the Rift, Solas froze shades and wraiths alike; before they could manifest into their physical forms. Any shade that managed to escape the spray of ice, Cassandra swiftly dealt with, her sword sliding into demonic flesh.

Releasing an arrow to assist Leliana, Alexandre scanned the terrain for somewhere high enough to close the Rift. An idea came to mind.

Slinging his bow securely around his body, Alexandre raced across the chamber and clambered up one of the rocky pillars beside the Rift. He moved slower than he would have liked; his injured ankle throbbing painfully under his weight. Underneath his hands, the stony surface was surprisingly hot.

When he finally reached a secure ledge on the pillar, he peered down at the chaos below. Varric and Leliana stood back to back, killing the wraiths from a distance, while Solas and a group of soldiers removed any threat a shade posed to the archers. Cassandra smashed her shield into any shade Solas froze, breaking their frozen bodies into pieces of ice.

Using the new height to his advantage, Alexandre let an arrow fly, killing a shade slithering behind Varric.

On the other side of the temple, the Pride Demon swung a whip of lightning at a defenceless group of archers atop a stone platform. They fell screaming, electricity paralyzing their bodies until their screams died away. Their bodies turned to ash.

“Now! Do it now, Alexandre!” Cassandra shouted up to him, locked in a ferocious battle with two shades. Leliana and Varric stood above the Seeker, raining arrows and bolts down on the Pride Demon, trying desperately to draw its’ attention away from a group of soldiers doing battle against shades.  

Clinging desperately to the quaking rock, Alexandre extended his flaring hand in the direction of the Rift. His mark erupt into life; the green tendril connecting to the Rift’s shimmering surface.

And from behind him, he heard the Pride Demon roar.

Flinging a poor soldier to the ground, it glowered up at him. Glowing yellow eyes locked onto his, and as if it sensed his intent, the Pride Demon charged towards him.

Soldiers dove out of the way. Some managed to avoid the charging demon; others not as lucky. On the ground so very far below, Solas attempted to freeze the demon’s legs, but it was in vain for nothing seemed to stop it.

Unable to draw an arrow, Alexandre did the only thing he could think of: he threw the lone knife strapped to his hip.

It sailed through the air, moving in slow motion as it landed, with a satisfying thwack, straight into the Pride Demon’s head. Black ichor spurted from the wound, spraying all over Alexandre.   

But it wasn’t enough. The momentum brought the Pride Demon forward, and with a thundering crash, it collided against the base of the rocky pillar.

A string of curses left Alexandre’s lips.

The rocks beneath his hands crumpled to nothing as the entire structure broke apart. And with his foothold gone, Alexandre plummeted to the ground.

His vision swarming with spots, Alexandre distantly heard a woman screaming his name as the ground rushed up to meet him. The world went dark.


End file.
